Lesson Plans
by Mary Jane Parker
Summary: The lowest point of Alaric Saltzman's teaching career comes when he realises he's unprepared for class because his Netflix queue is empty and the mailman is late.


"_The lowest point of Alaric Saltzman's teaching career comes when he realises he's unprepared for class because his Netflix queue is empty and the mailman is late."_

The juniors in his 'American Civil War' class see _Glory _for the first time because Klaus has taken over his body and isn't much for writing lesson plans after those first few days. When he goes to slip the DVD into the player for a third time he barely hears the groans from his students and he sleeps straight through it, resting eyes red from tears and bourbon the night before. Jenna's dead.

He's shaken up over Isobel's reappearance the day he throws in _Gettysburg _for the first time, and doesn't realise he's shown it four times since when he puts it in and passes out the day after Jeremy's not-quite death. When Elena runs off to find Stefan he shows _The Red Badge of Courage. _Somehow that one only gets seen once before it's lost and he's found a copy of _Gods and Generals_ to show them while he watches Tyler watch Caroline's empty seat out of the corner of his eye. Is he surprised she's taking a personal day after he'd _bitten _her?

"Four pages on _Cold Mountain_," he hears himself saying, barely looking up from his research on the caves beneath the Lockwood property.

Teaching isn't as easy as everyone seems to think, and doing his job properly while battling the forces of evil is somewhat impossible. Netflix is a Godsend until _Cold Mountain_ goes back late.

Forced to rent _The Birth of a Nation_ from the public library, Alaric Saltzman's teaching career has finally hit rock bottom.

–

"What are you doing?"

"Work. You?"

The silence turned suspicious and against his better judgement Alaric found himself looking up. Blue eyes rested disturbingly close in his line of vision before a reflection of silver to the side made him blink. Damon grinned as he lifted the flask in his right hand to lips. "Providing incentive."

"Sometimes I think you think I'm an alcoholic."

"Did I say you were an alcoholic, Ric?"

"You're waving brand-" he sniffed the air between them. "_Whiskey_, in my face and calling it an incentive."

"I only know my audience." Damon set the flask down, just next to the short stack of graded papers that didn't seem to be growing any taller. He canted his head to read the upside down print. "'Captain Matthew Broderick?'"

Alaric grimaced. "Don't."

But Damon, being Damon, was already flipping through the rest of the papers, just barely managing to not laugh at the amount of red pen that covered them. The grades were unimpressive, though still generous considering the quality of the work. Alaric simply couldn't force himself to hand out the deserved Ds and Fs when the caliber of his own teaching over the past months ranked just barely above that. "'_If I had to compare the romance in __**Cold Mountain**__to any other it would be Jack and Rose's in Titanic, both epic and tragic in different ways._"

" know they're bad."

"Inman's stroy is so tragic and romantic that the viewer almost forgets he's fighting for the wrong side..." Damon shook is head. "This is wrong on so many levels."

"Damon..."

"_Alaric_," the vampire's voice turned mockingly high and girlish as he reached the final paper in the pile. The only one with a decent grade. "_I'm not writing a paper on __**Cold Mountain**__. I know it's been rough, but it's bad enough you forced us to watch that white-washed crap._" He looked up, eyebrow quirking as he met Alaric's eyes. "A+? Really?"

Alaric's hand finally found its way to the whiskey. "Bonnie's the reason I'm sitting here writing the first lesson plans I've written in three weeks. A+." His throat burned and he waited for the familiar fire of the liquid hitting his stomach. Instead it sat there, heavy and slightly sickening in an empty void he hadn't fed since lunch the day before.

"How long have you been locked up in here?" Damon asked, watching the look of discomfort cross his face.

"A while." He took a moment to glance around his old apartment. It was the longest he'd spent in the place in the months since Jenna's death, but it was difficult to get any work done at the Gilbert house that didn't directly relate to the supernatural or the occult. The thick layer of dust that sat on most of his belongings begged the question as to why he still insisted in paying rent on the place since it was more than obvious he wasn't living there. Hadn't been there full time since he'd been Klaus, really.

He'd barely left the study since coming in after the school day twenty-four hours before. His bed was un-slept in and the dip in his seat when he stood to stretch showed how long he'd been sitting. He steadied himself, placing his hands down on top of his notebooks.

"You look like hell."

"Thanks for bringing the whiskey, then. I'm sure that'll help."

"Didn't make you drink it." Damon grinned, patting Alaric's shoulder in a way that can only be described as patronising. "You're the 'not an alcoholic', remember?"

"I'm not," Alaric muttered. _At least no more than anyone else in this town._

"Right." But it wasn't judgement coming from Damon, as his hand turned from patronising to comforting in the span of seconds. It wasn't as if he had any place to speak where it came to giving into one's vices, after all. "So. Lesson plans?"

"I'm a teacher, in case you'd forgotten." Which was entirely possible, given that his class had turned into _The American Civil War... As Seen By Hollywood_. "So, yeah. Lesson plans, papers to grade, and three college recommendation letters."

"It's nice that kids in this town think they're going to live long enough to see college."

"Not funny."

"To you." Damon took pleasure in forcing people to wonder how much he really _did_ care about those around him, even those who knew him best. But Alaric wouldn't have allowed Damon near him, much less have his hand now resting around his waist had he not known him better than that. "You need a break."

The 'to-do' pile far out-stacked the 'finished' pile, but still Alaric found himself nodding as he rubbed his hand over the rough stubble on his cheeks. "Give me twenty minutes to get three weeks into the semester." If he could go three weeks without showing another movie, he'd consider it a win. Klaus was walking freely through town, Tyler had disappeared while Caroline spent more time hastily wiping at her eyes during class than she did doing her homework, and Elena's claim to the mortal realm seemed tenuous and day-to-day at best, but he could at least teach his class for the next month. Given the average life expectancy in Mystic Falls it was possible that was all he'd need.

Damon's sense of humor was rubbing off on him; like his lips against his skin. Alaric canted his head to meet the brief kiss. "I said twenty minutes."

"I heard you," he answered. "The question becomes whether or I not I care if some kid gets into Harvard or not."

"University of Delaware," Alaric gave a short laugh. "You're giving the high schoolers of Mystic Falls too much credit."

"Less reason to care, is what you're saying."

_Is what you hear me saying_, Alaric had time to think for a fleeting moment before Damon pressed forward, forcing him to lean back against his desk. There was a clanging as the flask fell to the ground, followed by the flutter of papers and a short stab of guilt when he saw Bonnie's pointed note land atop the scattered pile. But it wasn't enough to make him push Damon away, or worry as his bright blue eyes turned to the veins prickled beneath his skin.


End file.
